


Strange Attractors

by dance4thedead



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Covid-19 Related, Gen, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Read by the Author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance4thedead/pseuds/dance4thedead
Summary: There's an asshole in Matt's apartment.An unworthy love letter to the fic "The Goldilocks Principle". Set in late March 2020, during the COVID-19 crisis.Podfic length 5:15
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Strange Attractors

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Goldilocks Principle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788197) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



There's an asshole in Matt's apartment. Matt knows that the guy is leaning against his oven, waiting for him before he opens the door, but he puts the key in the lock anyway. He closes the front door behind himself, deadbolt and chain too.

It's nothing short of a standoff, the way the guy allows him to carry on the pretense of shucking off his shoes, coat, and glasses. Keys plunking into a dish. 

He can smell that the guy's not carrying, probably for his benefit. And this time around, the guy isn't covered in an absurd amount of oiled leather. Just clean cotton clothes washed with ample softener and a nylon-polyester backpack over one shoulder. Matt can also smell five cool bottles of his favorite lager on the counter, with the sixth uncapped and held at its sweaty neck by the digits a humming prosthetic. Probably for his benefit too, but honestly overkill.

The guy's heart ticks steady like a fucking pacemaker, like he's not the one breaking and entering and sipping beer in a lawyer's kitchen. Like he doesn't perceive Matt as a threat, even knowing full well who he is.

Yeah, it pisses him off all right. He caves first.

"My friends tried to get me to go to anger management counseling because of you."

The guy's head cocks to the side with a near inaudible click, probably to look at him. "It's not on me, pal, if you got yourself caught."

"I can walk off a concussion. I can't make spackle dry faster."

He lets his words sink home like daggers. It feels good. It feels like Matt might actually squeeze an apology out of him.

"You don't have anymore crap stashed in my walls. Why are you here again," Matt says, and neither of those are actually questions.

"I brought you beer," the guy says finally. He motions for Matt to take a bottle, but he doesn't. "Look, I know you think you're helping, but you're not. The last thing these hospitals need right now is you sending more people their way."

Matt's done this dance before, with Frank and with Stick. If this guy has a problem with his methods, he could take his uninvited, morally screwed righteousness somewhere else. 

"Neither do the morgues," Matt says.

"No. No, I didn't mean..." the stoicism of the assassin fractures into something perilously nervous and fragile. "I don't do that anymore." 

Matt stiffened. "You think just 'cause we're locked down, the people I seek out take a vacation too? That their victims aren't now locked in with them 24/7? I'm the fear that makes the crimes not happen. The work doesn't stop!"

The guy doesn't flinch as Matt explodes a week's worth of tension at him. 

The bottle clinks softly against the counter, half-full.

"My body was trained to not register minor damages," he says, the servos in his arm stirring lightly. "It stands to reason that when I get infected, I wouldn't have a way of knowing I've got it. I'll just carry it. Pass it on."

"I get your message, okay? But the risk posed by the virus isn't greater than the consequences of me standing by, doing nothing."

"It's not nothing. It's called staying the course."

"It's called variations on the word 'potato'," Matt shoots back.

The guy's heart rate drifts further from baseline. "Have you ever..." Matt hears his tongue briefly dip out to touch his lower lip. "Have you ever woken up, not knowing how many people you've killed?"

"No."

"It comes to you eventually. A name, a picture of a face, something familiar... and when you trace back your steps, you realize 'oh that gal', or 'that fellow': I'm what killed them. And I didn't mean to, I... Incidental casualties on a mission."

"I'm careful."

"Nah, you're prideful. You're put-off that this is one you can't fix with your fists."

"You don't know me!"

"Please, Matt, step back."

Suddenly, it's Foggy pleading for him not to retaliate against Fisk with his half-baked plan. It's Foggy asking him to stay human while Matt shoves him away again to do what he thinks is right. 

The fight drains out of him. "I hear you, Barnes," Matt says. "It's just hard to give up. Being helpless, it’s not what I’m used to."

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t stick.”

Bucky pauses, like he's considering something, then he drops the backpack from his back. 

"I know a team of the brainiest science folk doing their best to fight this. This one isn't ours. But, if you really need it to be..." 

He takes out something and holds out to Matt. 

"I was on my way to give this to your nurse friend. She put me back together one time, when I really..." that line of of thought gets hastily abandoned. "But you could use it. It's top of the line, reusable, one of a kind."

Matt reaches out and touches the surface of the face mask, then shakes his head. "Not really my style." 

The offered hand retreats in near silence, along with the man and his beer. Matt relatches the lock and chain behind him.

Alone, Matt pulls out his phone and calls his number one speed dial contact. He takes a deep breath as it rings.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Crit welcome ~~Roast me, cowards~~


End file.
